Mihalakis
© HAJI MIKE - 1988
At school
They gave us all kinds of names
Dished out on playing pitches
And over stormy dining tables
They called me many names
I had more nicknames than the years has days
More nick names than the sun has rays
Them call me colour
Call me paki, diego, whop, spik and darkie
Them call me class
Said I should work like my parents
Sweating buckets
Long hard hours present past
Them call me intelligence
Said I was good at
Rugby and footie
But my maths and history was dodgy and awkward
Them also call me
Culture
Said I was schizophrenic
Trapped in some kind of bi-cultural panic
Lost in Britain
And not proud of it
Call me colour
Call me culture
Call me class
Call me
All kinds of……
Nothing
But them never call me
Mixalakis
By my name
For that
Was all
I
Ever
Asked….
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When Cyprus becomes one
(C) HAJI MIKE 1994,
ACROPOLIS - CYPRUS,
LONDON - ENGLAND.
he politicians...huh
The Ones with no vision…
They'll be on the dole
When Cyprus becomes one.
I'll wonder what they'll have to show
When Cyprus becomes one.
Will they sell us out
Just like before
When Cyprus becomes one.
And will it lead to yet more war
When Cyprus becomes one.
And will you be my brother sister
When Cyprus becomes one.
-Tanks and bombs litter the streets
life is harsh-hard-bitter-sweet
Tourist love to soak the sun
Drink the booze
Dish out orders
Make us run.
And will it all be just the same,
Different players playing the same game,
When Cyprus becomes one.
Refugees in their homes,
Missing persons re-united,
Weapons cast away,
Living life having a say,
Natives in a native land creating more natives for
"Peace!"
You understand.
Or am I asking for too much,
Saying things that are out of touch,
Is it an impossibility,
beyond the next century,
A strange mystery
-'Mystereio brama!'
A fallacy
For Cyprus to be one.
So just in case it doesn't happen,
Cyprus becoming one that is
One last wish
This is what I want
on last request.
Bury me somewhere in between
In that 'no-per-sons-land'
On that line which they call 'green'
And there,
My spirit
Will rest and wait,
To greet the date,
To celebrate,
The time and day so great,
When Cyprus,
Becomes,
One.
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The Dreaded gate
© HAJI MIKE
You are my shackles
The key to liberation
My existential other
My sweet freedom
Like sand on the beach
Inseparable yet different
Need each other
Like potatoes need the earth
And in times past
You were my enemy
An unwanted inhabitant
Living in
A place where I had never ventured
You were
The dreadest place on the planet
I saw you from above
A map that bore little or no resemblance to reality
I viewed you from all directions
13 stories high
A hybrid bird watcher tourist
Believing and peddling myths
Stone cold guard posts in the middle of nowhere
They were real
Because my bone marrow froze
Holding a gun
With hands trembling
Dancing wet dark icy wind
As cold as the politics of war
Damn them all for building the walls
And closing the door
Subhuman thoughts tormented
My mind
And I challenged them
With every word
Song and thought
You are my prison
My sweet freedom
My life sentence
And my liberation
I walk through you now
It’s immaterial
Like the papers I sign
No longer a parable
Nor Illusion
The demons are gone
You remain
For real
For now
To be made
Redundant
At some time
In the future
Past
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